


A Familiar Feeling

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Angst, Post-Episode: s11e08 Familiar, mulder and scully actually talking, one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Mulder and Scully leave Eastwood behind, but memories may linger. Post-ep for "Familiar".





	A Familiar Feeling

“Any preferences as to where you want to stay tonight, Scully?” Mulder starts the car; his need to get away, and as far as possible, just as strong as Scully’s. If he could, he’d drive them home right now, without a single stop on the way.

“Hm, no. Let’s just get out of this town.” They leave the playground and the scene of the crime behind them, but the bitter, salty taste in his mouth remains. His fingers tap against the steering wheel. He can’t find a rhythm; the music on the radio is always a step ahead of him. Scully doesn’t comment, but he feels her glance over once or twice. Their overnight bags are in the car already; they never meant to stay this long. As they pass the town sign, he takes a deep breath and his lungs expand. He doesn’t want to think about this case anymore. A strange collocation of familiar elements, things he knows, cases they’ve solved. Except for the children. Small souls ripped from life when it had barely begun. Lying on the cold, dirty ground, unmoving. He sighs. Don’t think about it, he tells himself, breathes in and out. Don’t. Think.

“Over there, Mulder.” Scully brings him back, points to the orange and blue lights on the side of the road. They’re blinking at them invitingly. Mulder parks the car in the deserted parking lot. They won’t have a problem getting two hotel rooms here, he is sure of it. Scully leads the way, seems in a hurry. Mulder follows her with their bags in his hands.

“One room, please.” Even if he had any objections, he would not dare to voice them now. Scully’s voice is determined, as is the look she throws him. He gives her a small smile, a little nod. As if he would ever complain about sharing a room, a bed, with her.

The room is clean, smells fresh. Scully tests the mattress as Mulder loosens his tie. Another deep breath in as he’s finally free of the garment. It lands on the armchair next to the window. Scully’s eyes follow his every movement as he undresses. She wants to talk. He doesn’t turn to her until he’s in his boxers and t-shirt.

“I’m tired.” Mulder can’t swallow the need to say something; unlike her, though, he is not sure he wants to talk. Unburden all of this on her. Scully nods; she is still fully dressed, looks tough as nails, ready for business. He sits on the bed close to her, but not touching.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks.

“About what?”

“Whatever it is that’s making you sad.” He chuckles, a hollow sound in his own ears. He lies down, draws the blanket up to his nose.

“Could I ask you to repay the favor?”

“Hm?”

“Can I hold you?” Mulder asks. Scully nods, quickly sheds her clothes and rummages through her bag for her pajamas. He watches her, revels in the fact that she lets him watch. They’ve come a long, long way. When she pads over to the bed, her short hair slightly ruffled, he smiles at her. She fits against him perfectly, as always. They both sigh in unison as Mulder presses his chest against her back, sharing warmth.

“Shouldn’t I hold you instead?”

“Hm, no,” he mumbles into her neck, her hair tickling his nose, “you’re the perfect little spoon.”

“This case really got to you, didn’t it?” Scully’s finger travel along his arm, make his hairs stand on end. He presses his lips against her neck. She smells like peaches, tastes like 25 years of trust.

“Not the case, just…” The little girl. Emily. Even after all these years, the name still struck a chord in him. If she’d lived, she would be a young woman now with big curious eyes, a strong head of her own. Stubborn as hell. There’s another lost girl that lives on in his mind; neither mentions the name, but Samantha is always there, somewhere. Yet, he finds himself smiling against Scully’s neck and she giggles, cracking the seriousness of his thoughts.

“Tell me, Mulder.”

“The girl’s mother, Anna,” the woman who went up in flames, he thinks, tasting ash on his tongue, “she asked me if I had children.” Scully flinches, tenses up. The hand on his arm stills and her fingers dig into his skin. He leans closer and he feels her shiver when he starts talking in a hushed tone. “I told her that I have a grown son. But is he really? He’s still just a kid, too, isn’t he? I wonder what kind of TV show he likes. Or liked when he was a kid.” When Scully doesn’t immediately answer, he wonders if he should have kept it to himself. They’ve talked about William. Little mentions of him here and there. They watched the video of him so many times that Mulder knows it by heart now. Scully does, too, he is sure of it.

“I thought of him when… in the morgue.” Scully admits finally, her voice breaking. He tightens his arms around her and she holds on to him, lets him hold her. Sharing the familiar, shared pain. 

“He’s out there.” Mulder assures her. “He’s fine.” He has to be.

“I know.”

“At least we never had to suffer through hours of the Bibbletiggles.”

“You think he would have watched something like that?”

“It was quite catchy.”

“Of course,” she laughs softly and leaves tiny kisses on his arm, “and you would have watched it with him. No matter how much you hated it.”

“I would have.” They’re both quiet, both lost in a world that never was and never would be. Mulder thinks of the little boy, the little girl. Lost, too. Forever. He thinks of Emily, of Samantha and William.

“Stop thinking, Mulder.” Scully whispers. “Sleep.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t dream about witches. Or grinning, singing puppets.”

“You’re mean, Scully.” She turns around in his arms and kisses him softly.

“Sleep, Mulder. I’m here and tomorrow we’ll be home.” He nods; he knows. There’ll be another case, something to distract him from these feelings. Scully’s hand finds his and she intertwines their fingers. “Just close your eyes.” He sighs one last time and his eyes close. There’s no fire, no woods. No dead children, no singing puppet. There’s sunshine and there’s Scully. There’s only a small boy running around, happy and free.


End file.
